Monday is a holiday - Errol Barrow Day - Independence Day, so I'm not sure what will be open or closed or what things will be like. I decide to do some scenic touring along the north coast, which I haven't been to yet. It's a bit of a drive, some winding roads get increasingly worse the further I go. There are dirt roads at the northern tip of the island, and I decide to just park "further" from the coast and walk up. As I'm doing so, a herd of sheep crosses behind me - thankfully, the car's sensors noticed right away.
I wander the cliffs a bit. There are other tourists here. I speak with a local taxi driver waiting on his crew. Some folks nearby are doing Instagram poses near the edge of the cliff. "I'd never go that close," I tell him.
"Yes, sometimes the wind blows you this way; sometimes it blows you that way. Once, someone fell down the cave nearby - and her friend jumped after her. They had to get the military in to rescue them. They got married on the island a year later." I assume this is a true story.
He tells me ,the whales will come near the coast in one month because they "smell the molasses" - from the sugarcane harvest.
The tourists are all on one prominent point, but I wander to the east, where some interesting cliffs are, and try to get a sketch. Unfortunately, there's no shade, so I must make it quick.
Next, I drive to the northwest coast, where there is an abandoned lighthouse. Google turns me around a few times here, but I eventually find it stop before a dirt road and walk the rest. I want to get some steps in. There's no one here - one car passes me on the way out. The lighthouse is in the middle of nowhere; it's weathered, and there's not much around it. Again, I can find no shade to sketch, so I do a quick one and move on. I’m usually more on edge in really rural situations like this than I ever am in a big urban setting. Thank you, Deliverance.
I drive west, where I will start curving around south towards home; it's mid-afternoon. I'm just aiming at roads in that direction now, not punching in directions on Google but looking at the map. I have a decent sense of the direction on the island now, and at a certain point, there are not many roads. I go through some rural towns and slowly look for visual interest. Going around a corner, I see a small stand with a line of fruit juice pumps (I've seen these before; they always have 200 flies around them, but I never tried them) - but also a popcorn stand (no flies). I pull off the next road. There's a bar/rum shop there, and I park in an open lot. The rum shop guys ask me if I'm alright, and a fellow across the street checks in from out of his house while his dogs bark in the fenced-in yard. In non-tourist areas, people always assume I'm lost. I tell him I saw the popcorn stand and also am looking at rum shops.
The bar here isn't too attractive - it's got a big TV, painted pure red, and people hanging out inside, but it doesn't have the - je nais sais quoi - for a sketch.
I goto the pocorn stand. 4 men are hanging around in the shade nearby. I know the greeting now.
"All right"
"All right," they say
"I saw you had popcorn."
"It's $2 for a small bag and $3 for the big bag."
I get the big bag and ask if I can join them. The men pull up a chair and offer me a beer which I decline. They ask me how long I have been here, where I'm from, etc.
"Canada? Justin Trudeau." one says. "He's good."
The conversation moves on so quickly from this I didn't have time to press as to what their impression of Trudeau was. Perhaps they just like that he is not seemingly close to death like what America is offering.
The men get into a conversation about tourists and Barbados - one says, "Some people come here, go to the beach - the west coast - and then leave."
His friend replies, "Because that's what they want - they get away from the cold, like ‘im up here in Canada."
"But they don’t come inland - to rural places - talk to the locals - see real Barbados."
They are saying the internal thoughts I've been having about my time here out loud. I tell them I agree with them; they're both right in different ways. Some people will come here and only see the beaches, but to know the island, you seem to need to get off the coast, get a bit rural, or off the beaten path to be sure.
They point me to another rum shop up the dead-end street they are on. I walk up - I don't see it and ask a man sitting on his porch; he points me to an unassuming white building. Not worth sketching. Two elderly women are sitting on their porch nearby, braiding the other's hair.
"All right"
I say hello; they are curious about me. "You look well," the one braiding says.
"How can you not be well in Barbados?"
I tell them I was looking at the rum shop and why the men down the road pointed me up here. "They seem nice, not much trouble, eh?" The woman laughs.
The one braiding wants to know how my time has been, if I'm being safe and if I've had any issues. She really appreciates hearing my good review of her country.
She wants to get back to braiding her friend's hair. "You've only got 3 rows done. You have some work ahead of you." They both laugh.
"You be safe, young man."
On my way out, the popcorn seller is now alone. "Your friends left you."
"Yes, they had to get back to things," he says. He's running the stand for his wife, who is sick right now, so he's keeping it going. He worked as a security guard in a hotel for 20 years, but he retired from that and now works as a spear fisherman.
He tells me this entire neighbourhood - generations ago - was just a few houses. "Our grandparents, great grandparents, just a few of them" - he waves his hands around, meaning his friends or neighbours - relatives - "They all worked on the plantations around here."
"At one point, they were able to buy the land. For 10 cents a square foot," he says.
"I don't let that history sit with me. Like some of my friends would. I wouldn't say this around them, but I can tell you.
"I've talked to people from all over the world. Germany. Yugoslavia. Nigeria.
"I can't live with the past like some people do."
I say, "There is generational trauma with this types of thing. I think we need reparations - global reparations." He nods and says “But I can't live that way. I just need to live one day at a time.” A fair approach.
I snap a photo of him - Oliver - and he wishes me well on my way.
I continue on the drive to the west. There are a few places I would like to stop and at least take photos, but sometimes stopping is damn near impossible - nowhere to safely pull off or park.
I hit the Carribean coast and turn north again - I haven't been up this part of the coast road. There are some fishing boats - seemingly unused- people pulling in cages, the road is narrow, and again, there are many interesting places but nowhere to park. I start heading back up a hill, turn around, and find a place to park on the road. A small lot where a fellow is taking donations to park; I guess it's private land. He helps me park, and I give him $2.
There are a few beautiful but not too busy beaches here, some with big overhanging trees and shade. Fishing boats and sailboats scatter the sea in the distance. The afternoon is running into the evening, so I do one more scenic stretch of a beach and coastline. On my way back to the car, it started pouring rain. I stopped and talked to some fishermen who were now starting a fire on the beach.
"All right"
I ask the one sitting or resting what paint lines are around the nearby trees.
"That marks the tree fruit - it's not good - the leaves, the fruit… you want to stay away."
"It's poison?"
"No, not poison…"
"But it won't be good for you."
"Da's right"
I ask him what they are doing with the grill.
"Starting a fire. Going to roast breadfruit."
"Ok. Good." I'm glad to know this operation and have tried roasted breadfruit. These guys have an improvised standing grill - and clearly, some lighter fluid because his friend gets this thing going quick.
"What were you doing today… fishing?"
"Yeah, fishing…"
"Were you in one of these boats?"
"No - a kayak."
"Wow… What did you catch?"
"You want to see?"
"Hell yeah."
The man takes me around the boats, where he's got a bucket of about a dozen groupers and another silver looking fish. They're all about the length of half my forearm. Not huge.
"So you fish from a kayak?"
"Yeah - I put a chair on the kayak and fish from that."
I think he must mean a paddle board or sit-on-top, when he says kayak - it's certainly not how I'd picture a kayak, which would not be able to support a chair.
"You mean those orange kayaks around the corner?"
"D'as right"
"Man, you don't want to fall in."
"I can swim."
"Yeah - me too - but still. You wear a lifejacket?" He doesn’t answer this, maybe it’s a dumb question.
"One time I had to swim from - out there -you see that sailboat?" It's at least 700 meters out from shore. "I was with a friend, and we tipped…"
I tell him about working doing whitewater. He doesn't understand this - I don't think the island has rivers. Still, I explain the basics of it to him, which he understands. "There are waves, but not like here - they keep going in circles - some of them, you don't want to get caught in because you just keep going around." He nods in appreciation.
I thanked him for the tour and continued to the car. On my way home, taking another new road up to the highway, I see a basketball net set against a row of colourful buildings. I haven't seen any basketball nets here, and I continue my tradition of trying to take photos of outdoor hoops.
Some kids nearby are playing some kind of paddleball game. I snap the photos and notice a bar up the street, so I wander and look. It's interesting - it might be worth trying to sketch, but not right now; I'm tired, and the day is running late.
A couple of people are sitting nearby. "All right"
"I'm all right, yeah"
They ensure I'm not lost, and I explain about the basketball courts and looking for rum shops.
"You could stay and have a few beers."
They quiz me about my time on the island. I often joke that I should just stay or something along these lines.
"Buy some property," they say. “There’s some for sale around the corner.”
I tell them about property prices in Canada - they both nod, seemingly understanding how crazy things are.
The man tells me, "Some places here are expensive - you buy on the coast or on a beach, and you pay multiple millions. But you buy in a place like this, and it's maybe 80,000."
"Bajan?"
"Yeah, Bajan. The land included."
